


His Best Girl

by Moriarty (DamnedAfterAll27)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: SO MUCH SADNESS, Sadness, ca:cw peggy scene AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:36:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7510390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamnedAfterAll27/pseuds/Moriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Peggy Carter's death gets the treatment it deserves and Steve and Tony get to grieve like normal people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Best Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who listened to 'It's Quiet Uptown' whilst writing this and is now an incoherent mess? ME.

It's Tony that comes to him first.

Steve, immaculate, strong, all-American superhero Steve, is crumbling on the inside. For a boy so used to loss, who has had Death repeatedly kick him in the crotch, this seems to be the most sensitive blow.

 _Peggy_. His Peggy...gone.

Of course, he has accepted that death is a normal and natural part of human life, but his capacity to undertake it is beginning to wear thin. While he lives, never ageing, somehow managing to escape death on multiple occasions, all those around him die. He's tired of watching. 

Steve's dressed in the traditional funeral garb, a starchy black suit that doesn't quite fit him right, and shrinks his stature to that of almost an ordinary man. It doesn't help that he's barely eaten over the last few days, choosing to spend most of his time locked away, forcing himself to remember.  
  
And people had respected that. They'd left him alone, allowed him to grieve in his own particular way. That is the bittersweet wonder of death; everyone deals with it just a little bit differently. Steve secluded into himself. Usually extroverted, he would become solitary and demand isolation, not wanting to be distracted from his own mourning. Often, if he concentrated hard enough, he could conjure up her image. It would talk to him, smile, her eyes crinkling with a fondness reserved for her best man. 

Her favourite.   
  
'You're an idiot,' she would say. She would want him to have a piece of her in the back of his mind for good, but to pull up his socks and move on as soon as it felt right.  
  
For Steve, he believed that time would not be for years to come.  
  
There is a gentle knock against the door, an unusual gesture from a visitor who tends to barge in whenever the fancy strikes him. Steve instinctively flattens his tie, convinced there is a crease in the middle. When he speaks, his voice is soft and paper-thin.  
  
'Come in.'  
  
The door opens halfway, a tentative gesture at peace, and Tony appears in the frame.

He has lost the bravado he's worn like a coat since his early teenage years and in its place is a scared little boy, unsure of who he is. He tugs on the sleeves of his shirt, pulling them further out of his jacket. When Steve looks a little closer, he sees Tony's nails have bitten down to their end, leaving spiky, unkempt daggers in their place.  
  
When Steve glances at Tony, he sees fear that he's never witnessed before. As though Peggy was a part of him, propelling his confidence to exuberant, Energizer Bunny heights. Now that she was gone...he didn't particularly want to think of the end of that sentence.  
  
'Can I talk to you?' Tony asks.

Steve nods. Tony closes the door softly behind him, then takes a seat on the bed beside the other man. It's as though they can see the weight on each other's shoulders.

'I know we're meant to be fighting,' Tony begins quietly, before Steve abruptly cuts him off.  
  
'We're not fighting. We're deliberating.'  
  
'You can call it whatever...look, she would want us to put this behind us. At least for today. Then- you can deliberate me all you want.'

Steve is quiet. Innately, he's surprised at how mature Stark is handling the affair. The man is notorious for not allowing his emotions to get past his general thinking- his brain is far too powerful for that. His sharpness has melted slightly, replaced instead by a boyish softness, overpowered by grief.  
  
He wants to say something. Anything. Yet words elude him.  
  
'You know,' Tony says, sniffing away what may perhaps be a tear or two, 'I've been thinking about her. A lot. Just random moments.'  
  
'Yeah?'  
  
'Like...how badass she was. She taught me how to re-wire a plug when I was three, because Dad never did. Helped me figure girls out. Didn't grass on me when I decided that testing grenades in the backyard was a good idea.'  
  
Steve smiles, briefly. Such Peggy things.  
  
'She always talked about you. You know...the bravest man she ever met. Someone who literally went from a boy to a man right before her eyes.'  
  
A lump appears in his throat, which he attempts to swallow. He's cried enough. He told himself that today, he'd keep his eyes dry.  
  
'She told me about the flag.'  
  
He manages a choked laugh. 'Gosh. I remember that.'  
  
'Aunt Peggy said it showed great resourcefulness. You had more brains than the rest of those guys put together.'  
  
Steve nods, the thought taking a slightly bitter turn as he remembers. Then, in a moment of weakness, he allows himself to glance at Tony.  
  
'Is it meant to hurt this much?'  
  
Steve's voice cracks. He doesn't even need to explain himself. Instead, Tony fiddles with the silver band on his index finger, sniffing gently.  
  
'Yeah. Unfortunately. S'like a knife in the chest- right?'

'Right.'

'I feel like the world should stop,' Steve eventually murmurs, his voice cracking as the bitterness strengthens, 'She was so important. It seems almost offensive for people to carry on like nothing's happened.'  
  
Tony nods. _Someone else gets it_. After a moment, he leans over to Steve and pats his shoulder, needing the brief solidity of another human.  
  
'Welcome to grief, gramps. The world keeps spinning, even when yours is in pieces.'  
  
Such profundity is more common from Steve than Tony, but it is comforting for the moment. After a moment of silence, Tony stands, his practicality getting the better of him.  
  
'We should go. It'll be starting soon.'  
  
Steve doesn't move. Instead, he stares into the white blandness of the wall in front of him, willing it to open up and swallow him whole. To take him back to a time where they could be suspended in time, in 1943. They were full of possibility back then. Youth stretched before them like an abyss, as though it would never end.  
  
He had Peggy, he had Bucky.  
  
Now he had no one.  
  
'I loved her.'  
  
Tony makes the smallest of nods- almost unnoticeable. Rather than replying, he opens the door of Steve's bedroom and pauses there, waiting for the other man to move. When he does, he places a hand on Steve's back, helping him out of the room. Not because he has to. But because he needs someone.  
  
Their fighting seems infantile now.

**

The church isn't crowded. That is the first thought that angers Steve.  
  
As he walks silently towards the front of the church, a figure in a long line of familiar mourners, his fury peaks. The pews should be full; people should hanging off of columns, spilling out of the door, all trying to crane their necks and catch a glimpse of the famous woman. There should be cameras broadcasting this across the world, to everybody who's heart Peggy touched.  
  
Tony leads this procession, his sunglasses worn strategically to mask the tinged red of his eyes. As Steve walks, he notes a presence sliding into place next to him, her perfume allowing him to breathe just a little. A small, smooth hand slides into his and when he turns to look at her, Wanda offers him the smallest of smiles.  
  
'I'm here,' she whispers. It's enough.  
  
As they sit, he finds himself squeezing Wanda's hand a little harder.  
  
The coffin is now in sight, draped in the Union Jack, an arrangement of carefully styled pink flowers on the top. This is the second thing that angers Steve. Peggy was a firm critic of the colour pink. It had hindered her progress throughout her younger life, and she often eluded to the prospect of wearing it as being the worst torture she could envision. A personal torture, she called it. Everyone had one.  
  
Steve liked to think that he was suffering at the hand's of his this very moment.  
  
'Steve...my fingers...' Wanda murmurs, and Steve quickly lets go. She shakes her hand, wincing slightly at the movement.  
  
'Sorry.'  
  
'It's OK. You've got super strength and I've got weak hands,' she smiles.  
  
Steve barely notices the funeral passing by. He's acutely aware of the droning voice of the priest speaking before those who have gathered- another thing that angers him. Her faith in organised religion died around the same time he nearly did.

Instead, he chooses to watch Tony instead and mimic his behaviour on that.  
  
There is no life behind Tony's eyes. Instead, he appears to have left his own mindset and is, much like himself, watching the coffin. Steve is fully aware at just how hard Tony tried, pushed his mind and his resources, to bring her back. He tried to re-create the super-serum that brought Steve into their lives, he tried to design artificial intelligence that could completely replicate her. Anything that would stop this poisonous guilt flowing through him.

Tony knows, deep down, that he hasn't done enough. He should have worked harder.  
  
But nothing could replace Peggy. No machine could bring her back. And that thought alone is wholly devastating.  
  
He cried in his lab. He threw things, broke things, screamed until he was hoarse. It just made him feel worse. There's a growth in him, somewhere, that makes him feel as though he's being eaten alive by anguish.  
  
And then the priest is calling his name.  
  
Steve watches carefully as Tony rises and walks to the altar, pausing to linger beside Peggy's coffin for just a moment. But as he stares out across the half-empty church, he stumbles.  
  
His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish, but nothing coherent exits it.  
  
'Webster's dictionary defines...'  
  
He stops again, hating every syllable. There's a stray cough. Tony tries to rearrange his thoughts, but they scramble and muddle, faulty wires crossing across his mind.  
  
'Margaret Carter was...'  
  
He stumbles again, looking down at his feet. He's never been this nervous. Ever. After a moment, he glances at Steve, who is staring so pointedly at the coffin, it's as though his very survival rests upon it. Then, thankfully, the words come to him.  
  
'She used to tell me that everyday, she'd give herself a pep talk. No matter where she was going, or what she was doing. It was something I continued. Kept me motivated.'  
  
He pauses, taking a moment to collect himself before continuing.  
  
'Aunt Peggy was the most selfless woman the world will ever see. It's because of her we're all here. Alive. She was, to everyone, a light in a world of increasing darkness. In her own special way, she touched all of us. And, to quote her oldest comrade, she was our best girl. Always.'  
  
He sniffs, clutching the edges of the pulpit with an unholy grip.  
  
'She was Peggy fucking Carter. No one will ever be again.'  
  
He doesn't say anything more, and goes back to his seat, one fist slightly clenched.

Tony doesn't even look up when Steve stands and pushes his way out of the pew, stalking back down the aisle. But he understands.

Someone must have noticed the hot tears in Steve's eyes as those words were spat back at him. Footsteps hurry after him, but he barely notices. As the priest continues, trying to draw attention away from the outburst, Tony threads his fingers together.

He can almost hear his heart breaking.

**

Steve is punching the wall. As hard as he possibly can.

His knuckles are already bleeding, one of his fingers broken, but he doesn't care. He is numb.

Trash-cans in the alleyway he's rushed into have been slammed to the floor, the work of his feet. He can feel blood trickling along to his wrists, his cheeks hot and damp. With all his might, he continues punching, trying to get out the raging anger that grows from his stomach.  
  
He barely notices the figure who has followed him. Who, with strength unbeknownst to her, drags him kicking and screaming away from the wall and hugs him so tightly that he can't help but surrender.  
  
'It's not fair! It's not fair!' he moans like a child into Sharon's shoulder, clinging onto her.  
  
She's crying too, his weakness a puncture to her reserve.  
  
'I know, I know,' she comforts him, 'But we can't change it.'  
  
And he sobs. Sobs at the futility of his hits, at the things he is aware he cannot change. Yet something in him wants to fight back, wants to find a solution. A civil war takes place in his own stomach and he's powerless to prevent it.  
  
They stand in the alley for a little while longer, not caring who sees them, not caring that they're both messes. Instead, they revel in contact that they've denied each other for too long.  
  
'She loved you so much,' Sharon whispers fiercely to him, 'If you forget that, I'll punch you.'  
  
It's ingrained into his mind. It takes him a while- it takes them both a long time- to regain their composures. But their lack of care as to who has spotted their exuberant breakdowns is beyond them. Instead, when he's mustered the courage, Steve leans away from Sharon a little, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.  
  
Almost motherly, she scolds him under her breath and rummages in her purse for a tissue, wiping his eyes.  
  
'You don't have to,' he mumbles. She sniffs, shrugging.  
  
'She asked me to take care of you. Because, and these are her words, you'd forget your head if it was loose.'  
  
It was so Peggy. Enough to make him laugh softly, the first time he had done so in what felt like weeks.  
  
'You know,' Sharon murmured, dabbing the edges of her eyes, 'We don't have to stay. We could go get some coffee? Or something stronger, if you feel like it.'  
  
He shakes his head, something pulling him back into the church. His lungs are empty, his body hollow. He can breathe a little better.  
  
'No. We should go back in. I want to say a proper goodbye.'  
  
She nods and brushes her hand over his. After a moment, he links their fingers, squeezing it tightly. Without a word, she leads him back towards the church, into the abyss.

**

A few hours later and the hollowed centre of the church is almost empty. The coffin is now buried on a small patch of grass outside, with a simple stone attempting to convey a small percentage of Peggy's great service to the world. The group of them, touched to silence by her presence, sit in the smallest corner of the room, needing closeness but not wanting to leave just yet.

As Steve looks around the group, his heart twinges slightly at those that Peggy never got the chance to know. Wanda, who plays half-heartedly with a loose thread on her skirt. Peggy would have loved her. They possess similarly sharp minds and big hearts, filled to the brim with love and kindness. More often than not, those wonderful people are the first to get hurt. Clint, Natasha- people to whom the name Peggy is spoken in hushed reverence. Yet they never got a chance to really get to know her like Steve had.  
  
Out of the silence, Wanda's small clipped voice raises between them.  
  
'What was she like?'  
  
Her voice is full of genuine curiosity. Steve glances over at her, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He had asked her the very same question about Pietro. They had spoken for hours.  
  
It takes him a moment to realise that everyone is waiting to speak. Not even Tony pipes up, because he knows that to his aged comrade, he is second best.  
  
'She was life personified.'  
  
Tony smirks, lets out the smallest laugh anyone's ever heard. Out of everyone there, he perhaps understands the statement the best.  
  
'Peggy didn't see things in black and white. I mean- she saw me when I was the runt of the litter. Everyone, in her eyes, had a purpose. She was a facilitator to people discovering their purpose.'  
  
Smiles twinge on the mouths of those around him. After a moment, Steve glances over at Tony, who catches his eye very briefly.  
  
'Tony was right,' Steve eventually murmurs, knowing that their time thinking of Peggy is almost over, 'She was our best girl.'

Time seems to pause. He can breathe. Just.


End file.
